


bite the hand that feeds

by sootandshadow



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Inflation, Creampie, DNA (destroy nero's ass), Demon Anatomy, Demonic instincts, Fingering, Incest, Knotting, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Parent/Child Incest, Partial trigger, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Twincest, Uncle/Nephew Incest, belly bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 04:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootandshadow/pseuds/sootandshadow
Summary: It had started in the days after he’d finished dealing with the lingering after-effects of the Qliphoth, this strange, deep unpleasantness in the very recesses of his soul that Nero just can’t seem to shake. At first, he thought he’d just needed time, to process his feelings or whatever about the colossal upheaval of his life that had come from Urizen and his associated revelations. Or maybe he’d just needed more space, having spent too long in that cramped van with his newest chain-smoking partner in crime. Maybe he just had a really nasty stomach ache from living off canned soup and shitty bread for a month.But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into a month, Nero was starting to get the feeling that there was more to this than just the emotional fallout of the Qliphoth Incident.
Relationships: Dante/Nero/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 389
Collections: Spardacest Server Fics and Art





	bite the hand that feeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yakyuu_yarou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakyuu_yarou/gifts).

> A Spardacest Server Secret Santa pinch hit! 
> 
> Bless Sen and Tako, who let me lie pathetically in their inboxes and solicit smut ideas from their perfect brains. <3

It had started in the days after he’d finished dealing with the lingering after-effects of the Qliphoth, this strange, deep unpleasantness in the very recesses of his soul that Nero just can’t seem to shake. At first, he thought he’d just needed time, to process his feelings or whatever about the colossal upheaval of his life that had come from Urizen and his associated revelations. Or maybe he’d just needed more space, having spent too long in that cramped van with his newest chain-smoking partner in crime. Maybe he just had a really nasty stomach ache from living off canned soup and shitty bread for a month. 

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into a month, Nero was starting to get the feeling that there was more to this than just the emotional fallout of the Qliphoth Incident. 

Whenever his mind isn’t sufficiently occupied, it feels like something is gnawing at Nero’s insides, like he’s just one giant exposed nerve, too big for his skin and restless in a way that he hasn’t been in years. He remembers feeling vaguely like this after Fortuna, after he’d awoken something hungry inside of him, when he’d just had his first taste of what it truly meant to have real demon blood flowing in his veins. Back then, when killing Fortuna’s now meagre demon population failed to soothe his tetchiness and Nero had started getting short even with Kyrie, he’d sought out the only person he could think of who might know what he could do to fix his new problem. 

(And, if that failed, could provide him with a satisfying fight.) 

Dante, of course, had taken one look at the bags under his eyes and the tightness of his scowl and the way he couldn’t stop his hands from balling into threatening fists, and invited Nero to a “private party” on the outskirts of town. A fight proved to be just what Nero needed, even if Dante had wiped the floor with him almost as effortlessly as he had the last time they’d crossed swords. Still, there had been something about being pinned beneath the older man, throat bared to avoid the razor-edge of one of Dante’s claws, that had helped to ease the tight knot in Nero’s chest. It settled him enough that he could return to Fortuna, at least for a little while, until the destructive urges started building up all over again. They were a minor inconvenience, though, and one that Nero was certain he had managed to get under control enough to live some semblance of a normal life. 

Except, one Dante visit a month became two, and then four, and finally Nero bit the bullet and asked the older man if he could rent a room at the Devil May Cry. It was asking for a lot, Nero knew, but Dante had taken it in stride, even if Nero had had to endure his fair share of teasing and needling about his decision to “embrace the bachelor life.” He’d known how to make Nero feel welcome though, in his own way. The first night Nero hadn’t been able to shake his homesickness, Dante had ruffled his hair with one of his big hands and told him not to sweat the small stuff, that he would take care of things as long as Nero wanted to stick around. (The effect of his declaration had been somewhat ruined by the fact that Dante had made it through a mouthful of pizza, but Nero liked to think that only made the sentiments that much more genuine.) 

But Nero had stayed, despite the clutter and Dante’s bad habits and his complete incompetence when it came to money and _paying the bills on time_, and things had been pretty calm on the whole “weird feelings” front. 

Until now, at least. Now, when Dante had disappeared into the bowels of Hell with his brother, leaving Nero alone to deal with the tangled mess of his own feelings. (And what a mess it is.) To make matters worse, whatever’s causing his inner turmoil isn’t as easy to fix as the last time, when a simple spar had been enough to quiet the churning maelstrom of his unease. Now, the strangest things seem to trigger new and even more unpleasant episodes, and, unable to predict these sudden mood swings, Nero feels like he’s walking on eggshells, unusually agitated by things that normally aren’t even a blip on his radar. 

Case and point, and the current source of most of his displeasure: the Devil May Cry shop. 

After the leftover demons from the Qliphoth had been cleaned up and Red Grave restored to some semblance of order, Nero had considered turning the van into a proper mobile unit, allowing him and Nico to travel greater distances to assist new clients. At the time, he’d thought it was a good idea, to get him away from the remains of Red Grave and all the pieces of his life that were suddenly empty of the man he’d begrudgingly considered his mentor. In theory, a demon-hunting break should have done the trick, but for some strange reason, Nero had spent his week away restless and anxious and alarmed by the prospect of leaving the Devil May Cry unattended, and his resulting distraction had made him clumsy in the ensuing demon fight. The wounds he received were not life-threatening to a person of his bloodline, but they’d been enough to make Nero abandon his mobile plans and set himself up instead at the main headquarters, if only to ease the painful tightness in his chest. 

This concession still doesn't make Nero feel any better about the whole wretched thing. It’s stupid, this feeling that _he_ has to be the one to take care of the shop, like for some reason nobody else will do. In reality, he knows that Dante’s friends and trusted allies will keep it safe, that Morrison will ensure the bills get paid and nobody comes to seize the building, but somehow that’s not enough. Nero needs to be the one living there, to watch over Dante’s territory until the devil hunter returns from Hell. 

Thankfully, Lady and Trish seem to take his sudden shop-loitering in stride. The human huntress is good to him whenever their paths cross, sharing tips and willingly offering her aid without charging him too much for her services. Trish, too, drifts in and out of the shop like a ghost, and while a part of him bristles a little at this, her presence is unobtrusive enough to keep his inner devil happy. There’s just something about her that makes her feel human, like V had — like a demon wearing the shape of a person, scentless and camouflaged and dangerous all the same. She never overstays her welcome, never pushes Nero’s buttons like everything else seems to these days, and so he lets her do what he pleases and turns his attention instead to the state of the shop. 

He dedicates himself to cleaning it up at first, getting rid of Dante’s excess piles of trash and reintroducing all the inside surfaces to some good, old-fashioned T.L.C. Remarkably, he’s able to get the shop in livable shape before Dante makes it back from the Underworld, leaving Nero to seek out other ways to entertain himself. He spends a bit of time organizing the spare room into something a little more homey, works his way through Dante’s collection of books, and even gets brave enough one day to invite Nico over to work on upgrading his weapons. It works out surprisingly well, and for a while, just being in the Devil May Cry seems to make everything a little easier. Occasionally, though, his “problem” will rear its ugly head again, and Nero is left to deal with the consequences. 

Sometimes, he drags the heads of particularly difficult demon kills back with him almost as if on a whim, only to spend the next several hours scrubbing the blood off the flooring and cursing himself in the process. Other times, he goes out and buys enough food for the entire week, only to gorge himself on it in a single night, eating it raw and devouring every morsel like he hasn’t eaten for a month. Dante’s bedroom is the worst offender, though. Every so often, Nero wakes up in the older man’s room in a veritable nest, surrounded by every article of clothing Dante left behind and everything else the man had handled enough to cover it in his scent. Of course he puts everything back after these episodes, mortified beyond words at whatever part of his hindbrain is determined to humiliate him like this, but it does little to change the fact that Nero gets his best rest when he sleeps in Dante’s room, in Dante’s _bed_ no less, and no amount of denial is going to change that fact. 

(He denies it anyway, because he feels like examining this behaviour any closer is going to lead him down a very dark and dangerous road.) 

Somehow though, he manages to wrestle everything under control in the months that follow his separation on the top of the Qliphoth, routine and violence working hand-in-hand to keep him from reaching the limits of his patience and his sanity. With each passing day, Nero believes, perhaps a little too naively, that he can survive this, that things will get better when Dante returns. Dante’s presence had helped soothe him once, taming his sudden spikes of aggression and redirecting them into something more useful, so there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t work again. 

It’s funny in a decidedly un-funny way just how much fate apparently intends to screw with Nero, because when Dante shows up on his doorstep with his brother in tow, smelling… _different_, Nero’s life does not magically get better. 

In fact, he gets one good whiff of Dante’s changed scent when the man pulls him into a hug and instead of comforted he feels like a knife’s been slipped between his ribs. Nero thinks, then, that this hole inside him must be anger, or lingering resentment, or some kind of decades-old abandonment issues that have only just decided to rear their ugly heads because now, instead of soothing, Dante’s constant presence in the Devil May Cry shop just makes Nero feel rubbed raw. He finds himself snapping at the older man more often than he means to, acerbic words flowing freely from his lips like he hadn’t spent the months before carefully preparing the store for Dante’s return. 

(But maybe he’s just that’s messed up on the inside. Maybe he just needs to leave and let Dante get on with a life that doesn’t really have a place for someone like Nero.)

But the thought of leaving hurts just as much as staying, so he falls back on old tactics to help get him through. Nero spars with the twins when they allow it and takes on extra missions when they don’t, determined to work whatever this is out of his system if it’s the last thing he does. He picks a fight with any demon who so much as breathes in his direction, forgoing his sword and his gun in favour of triggering and ripping his enemies apart with his bare hands. Having Dante or Vergil at his side in these moments only seems to encourage him to be more violent, to try to kill things more quickly, something inside of him demanding more and more out of him whenever he could feel their eyes on his back. Whenever he ran out of things to fight, he found himself viciously cleaning the house, or angrily stuffing more canned food into the already exploding cupboards, or even furiously scrubbing Dante and Vergil’s coats by hand until they were spotless. 

Except, the emptiness in his chest doesn’t get any better. If anything, it only seems to get _worse_. 

And now? Now the twins have gone out on some errand while Nero slept off the lingering effects of a bad poisonous bite — courtesy of his new, close combat fighting style — leaving Nero once again alone in the Devil May Cry. Any normal person would have enjoyed the peace and quiet, may have even been relieved that they could laze about without worry. But Nero’s life had stopped being normal the day a demon attack revealed the truth about his biology, and, given his track record, it’s no surprise that he can’t just graciously accept his sudden solitude. 

The moment he can stand again without seeing double, Nero is up on his feet, skulking around the Devil May Cry like a caged animal, restless and unhappy. Without Dante and Vergil, the store feels especially suffocating, and Nero has half a mind to go after them, if only so he doesn’t feel quite so left out. (He goes with them everywhere now; out to do the shopping, out to go drinking with Lady, out to inspect demonic artifacts with Trish, even out on missions when he knows he won’t get paid for his time. He knows it’s stupid, and invasive, but he can’t shake the feeling that he needs something more from them, something that they aren’t yet willing to give him, and the longer they withhold it from him, the more agitated he gets.) 

Perhaps it’s the lingering effects of the poison that have Nero so out of sorts this time; there isn’t really any other explanation. Sweat beads along his hairline, starts to drip down the back of his neck, and Nero finds himself feeling simultaneously too hot and too cold, clammy and uncomfortable despite being dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Without anything to occupy his mind, time seems to slow to a crawl, the minute hand creeping along the surface of the clock with a kind of agonizing slowness that only serves to ratchet up Nero’s irritation. Dante had left a note, promising to be back for dinner, and Nero should have just found some way to entertain himself or gone back to bed or literally done anything else but pace a hole in the floor but he _can’t_. 

He wants— 

He needs—

Somehow, Nero ends up in front of Dante’s bedroom door, sweaty hands clenched into tight fists as he grapples with his own instincts. He shouldn’t— _fuck_, he knows he shouldn’t, that this place is _Dante’s_ again and he has no place barging in here. This isn’t like when Dante had been in Hell, when there’d been nobody around to witness his moments of weakness and he could hastily put everything back to rights before Trish even suspected where he’d been. But, despite knowing better, it’s the only place he’d been able to settle himself, and right now? Right now he desperately needs something to help him calm down before he claws his own skin off. 

Surely just… sitting on Dante’s bed for a little bit can’t hurt? Dante doesn’t have to know, and Nero can calm himself down enough that he won’t bite his uncle’s head off when he and Vergil return. A win-win, right? 

Even that tiny little concession is enough to spur him into motion, and Nero’s standing in the middle of Dante’s room before he’s even fully accepted the idea. He hasn’t been here since Dante had come home and the room has once again started to reflect the slovenly chaos that is Dante’s natural state, the man leaving items in piles rather than putting anything away. Nero’s fingers itch to tidy it up, or at least put the room in some semblance of order, but touching anything would ruin the whole “Dante doesn’t need to know” concept. So Nero tamps down on that urge and instead picks his way through the mess until he reaches the bed, body instinctively moving towards the strongest source of Dante’s scent. He means to just sit on it, really he does, but the moment his hands touch the silken surface of Dante’s duvet, intending just to smooth it out before he sits, he’s already lost his own internal struggle. 

The bed creaks in faint protest, mattress dipping with his weight as Nero crawls on top of it almost as if in a daze, drawn like a moth to an open flame by the heady smell of gunsmoke and leather and aftershave with a spicy, masculine edge that’s all Dante. When the bedspread isn’t enough, Nero draws it back and noses at the sheets, breathing deeply and scenting the lingering smell there. Almost without thought his mind identifies the odour he can smell there on the next inhale, and the knowledge hits him like a punch to the gut, mortification drowned out by the roaring surge of arousal that makes his cock throb between his legs. 

It smells like _sex_, and not just the faint, messy smell of self-pleasure. (He knows that one intimately from the few guilty nights he’d jerked himself off surrounded by Dante’s smell in an effort to keep from going insane.) 

Here, only just noticeable beneath the freshly-washed smell of laundry detergent, Nero can smell not just Dante’s passion but also _Vergil’s_, sharp and exhilarating, the two scents mingling in a deeply intimate way that can only mean they’ve done more than just share a bed. Unbidden, images of them together play out in his mind’s eye, little touches and shared looks and inside jokes he’d witnessed but hadn’t understood the meaning behind. More than that, though, it’s all-too-easy to imagine them together, here in this bed or anywhere, because Nero’s seen how well they fight together. They would be just as fluid, just as fierce in the bedroom, competitive and antagonizing and yet somehow still playing off the other’s strengths while they chased their mutual pleasure and—

The friction of his jeans against his cock makes Nero suddenly painfully aware that he’s more than just half-hard, his hips rutting up against the mattress without his brain’s permission while he inhales the scent of his family’s filthy deeds like it’s the air he needs to breathe. Something inside of him _writhes_ with every breath, unsatisfied with just this meagre offering of what he’s been missing out on. This part of him desperately wants to roll in Dante’s sheets until he too smells like the both of them, until he too is part of whatever relationship they established on their holiday in Hell.

Until they acknowledge him and accept _his_ claim, the one he’d made atop the Qliphoth tree when he’d brought them both to heel. 

(They were _his_, they were _his_ family, but why wouldn’t they make him theirs?) 

“Nero?” 

At the sound of his name, Nero’s head jerks upward, whirling around on the bed to face the speaker. He hadn’t even heard anyone come home, too caught up in his newest discovery and the ensuing landslide of conflicting emotions, and it’s entirely too much for his poor brain to see _Dante_ of all people standing in the doorway. Half-crouched on the bed like a cornered animal, a low, dangerous growl unfurls in Nero’s chest and voices itself from behind his clenched teeth like rolling thunder, a warning before the storm. Dante’s eyes briefly flicker the colour of freshly spilt blood and it’s like being struck by lightning. Nero’s demonic energy explodes from his core as his trigger surges around him, filling the room with a burst of bright blue light. For a long moment he knows nothing but instinct, knows only the aftereffects of the messy cocktail of humiliation-guilt-need-arousal that even his trigger couldn’t completely dampen, and then his heartbeat pounds a deafening rhythm in his ears, drowning out everything else. 

When finally he comes back to himself the room swims in and out of focus, but he can feel something warm and solid gripping his hands — all four of them — keeping him locked securely in place. Only the fact that he doesn’t feel threatened stops him from lashing out, but only just. He gives himself a shake, feeling another growl rumble in his throat as he tries to make his eyes focus on the bedsheets in front of him. Is that… blood? 

“Nero. _Nero_.” 

Someone’s calling his name, low and gentle and with a certain softness to it that makes something delicate flutter in his stomach. He forces himself to breathe, to try and collect himself if only to stop the stranger calling his name so sweetly from worrying any longer than he has to. With a colossal effort, Nero finally manages to lift his head, and he finds Dante kneeling in front of him, human-hands clasped in Nero’s clawed ones despite the fact that the tightness of Nero’s grip is breaking the skin. Blood drips slowly down Dante’s wrists, but the older demon hunter doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are on Nero’s face, gaze searching, even as he fixes Nero with a lop-sided smile. 

“Nice to see you too, kid. You okay?” 

“Okay” is about the last word that Nero would use to describe himself, but he’s a little lacking in the vocabulary department right now. His tongue feels leaden in his mouth, his throat tight from the implications of not only being found invading Dante’s privacy but also apparently attacking him in his own room. He wants very much to wiggle free of Dante’s hold, to escape the older man’s scrutiny and try to shrug off his clear lack of control, but when Nero attempts to move his summoned wing-hands for some extra leverage he finds them as equally trapped as his regular hands. He doesn’t need to look over his shoulder to see who’s there, can guess just by the energy signature alone, but he tilts his head anyways, making brief eye contact with the room’s other occupant. It’s a small comfort to see that his father’s expression holds none of Dante’s thinly veiled concern, his face held in a careful, shuttered stillness that betrays nothing of his inner thoughts. Even so, there is a certain intensity to his gaze that makes the hair on the back of Nero’s neck stand on end. 

Nero looks away before the sight of Vergil alone is enough to provoke another Incident, and drops his gaze to the duvet instead. He can still feel the weight of Dante’s attention, and it makes him want to curl in on himself, more than a little cornered like this, sandwiched between two very powerful half-demons. A part of him had hoped that he might be able to sidestep this inquiry, to appeal to the bits of Dante that hate dealing with emotional things and love deflecting anything serious. Given that Dante has involved Vergil in this, though, Nero doesn’t think he’s going to get off that easy, which, for the record, _sucks._ This isn’t something he wanted to talk about, least of all with his uncle, and he needs to think of a way to get out of having this conversation as fast as possible. 

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, preparing a familiar, biting comment designed to push Dante’s attention away from his vulnerability — only, it doesn’t come. The sound that does free itself from his throat is not even a word, just a low, almost mournful noise that Nero can’t manage to stop fast enough once he voices it. He clamps his mouth shut, but the damage has already been done. Dante’s brows furrow as Nero desperately tries to smother the swell of desperate longing that bubbles up inside of him, a treacherous weakness that refuses to be placated now that it’s been somewhat exposed. He wants… _something_, a great big nebulous something he can’t quite put his finger on but for some reason a part of him has decided now is the best time to get that something from Dante. Words are even more of a struggle now, but Nero is determined to force them out, if only to stop from embarrassing himself even further. 

“Shit, I… I’m _fine_, I just...” 

With a full-body shudder, Nero bites back another noise threatening to force its way out of his mouth, and he watches through half-lidded eyes as Dante exchanges a Look with his brother over Nero’s head. His expression is a little more pinched around the edges when he looks back, his grip tightening on Nero’s hands, but Dante smiles all the same. 

“Yeah, you know what? Now’s probably a bad time to talk huh? Why don’t we just — _Vergil!_”

Dante’s alarm isn’t much of a fair warning, and Nero only has half a heartbeat to tense up before he feels Vergil’s fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder. It isn’t much more than a pinch — _the ghost of a bite_, his mind supplies — and had his father not been part demon, Nero doubts he would have had the strength to even compress Nero’s devil hide enough to make it hurt. And it does, hurt that is, but for some reason the pressure also makes Nero’s breath hitch, and he shudders against his will, tension bleeding out of him even as his wings tremble. In front of him, Dante shoots his brother a scathing look, and Nero feels more than hears Vergil’s sigh. 

“I was merely saving you some time, brother. You weren’t going to get anywhere with him like that.” 

His fingers are almost gentle now, petting the nape of Nero’s neck like he’s an oversized cat. It’s only then that Nero realizes that Vergil has released both his wing-hands, though Nero finds he suddenly doesn’t want to struggle anymore. His head is quiet for what feels like the first time in months, and Vergil’s presence behind him no longer feels quite so threatening. The lack of instinctual upset only serves to make room for other feelings though, and his face colours when his brain helpfully reminds him that Dante and Vergil just caught him sniffing their bedsheets before he lost control and attacked them. 

More than suitably ashamed of his behaviour, Nero drops his trigger, letting the energy slide off of him like water, and is relieved when Dante releases his now human hands. As Nero lets his hands fall back into his lap. he tries not to hunker down too much, gaze darting nervously around the room. It’s difficult to stay here and face his uncle, but while Nero has a lot of negative traits to work on, cowardice is not one of them. He can slink off with his tail between his legs after he’s apologized, dammit, and not a moment sooner. Swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, Nero rubs absently at the tip of his nose and takes the plunge. 

“Thanks… I guess. And I’m sorry for all—” he gestures to himself and the room and tries not to wince. “I should just—” 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Vergil interrupts smoothly, and Nero hears Dante’s sharp exhale of disapproval. If Vergil notices it, he doesn’t let it stop him from continuing, “As I have told Dante many times before, this kind of behaviour is perfectly appropriate for a demon of your age.” 

The words give Nero pause, breaking up his inner mantra of self-flagellation as his mind catches up to Vergil’s calmly delivered verdict. A demon of his age? What was that supposed to mean? When Nero glances back to Dante the man briefly looks like he swallowed a lemon before his face smooths over again and he gives his brother a look that, on anyone else, would be causally exasperated. On Dante, though, Nero knows it means that his uncle is furiously trying to resist the urge to do something violent.

“Vergil—” 

“We did it your way, Dante, and it led to this. Now we’re going to try it my way.” 

A muscle in Dante’s jaw twitches. “You didn’t even give my way a chance! And now you’ve gone and skewed the results by doing—”

“What needed to be done, brother, _as usual_. I know action is hardly your strong point, but try and keep up.” 

“You want action? I’ve got some action for you right here—” 

“Hey! Would you two give it a rest?” Nero barks, scowling when both twins turn their attention to him with a look that suggested they had genuinely forgotten about his presence. He ignores the slight in favour of finding out the truth behind his apparently fucked up biology. If all this time, he’d just been going through some kind of second demonic puberty of sorts and nobody had told him, he really is going to kill his last remaining relatives. “If you know what’s wrong with me then you should know how to fix it, right?” 

The awkward silence is more than a little telling, and Nero resists the urge to fidget on the bed. He looks between the twins as though trying to see which one of them will break first, watching them have what appears to be a wordless argument through extended eye contact alone. 

“Go ahead, _Vergil_, since apparently you’re taking the lead here,” Dante sneers first, and Nero swears he hears Vergil actually growl behind him. His father’s face betrays no more irritation than normal, though, when Nero turns to look at him. 

“Well?” Nero prods, when Vergil doesn’t answer right away, and he is rewarded with narrowed eyes for his trouble. He can read acceptance in the set of his father’s shoulders, though, and he forces himself to wait it out, biting his tongue until Vergil finds the words that he wants. 

When Vergil finally speaks it is in a calm, measured pace, but Nero does not miss the barely audible subharmonics that normally accompany his devil trigger form. It makes something in Nero sit up straight and take notice, and without meaning to his cants his body towards his father in rapt attention. 

“I suspected, after seeing you when we returned, that you were feeling the effects of your devil’s maturity. Establishing territory, proving your strength, destroying any lingering threats to yourself and your chosen allies. All of these behaviours are typical and expected when a devil becomes as powerful as yours. Given enough time, you would have eventually settled into a more favourable equilibrium with your human side and been able to continue living your life as normal.” He pauses long enough for Nero to nod slowly, a sign that he’s following along, and then Vergil continues, 

“Your situation is different than mine or Dante’s, though. For one thing, the presence of established adult devils in what you’ve tried to mark as your territory is likely making things more difficult for you. For another, you emerged victorious atop the Qliphoth, demanding that the losers of those fights submit to your will. That… has meaning, in the language of devils. The bonds you started to forge between all of us that day still remain, even unfinished as they are. Unconsummated, they represent a great uncertainty for your devil, both in terms of its place within its own territory and amongst the other devils that should be its allies. Uncertainty breeds violence. I am, admittedly, a little surprised that it took you this long to completely lose control and lash out at us.” 

Nero’s not sure he appreciates the backhanded compliment, but he lets it go for the moment. He has more important things to worry about, like how his mouth feels suddenly dry, and he has to swallow once before he manages a soft, “Right. Okay. And how am I supposed to... ‘finish’ these bonds?” 

The corners of Vergil’s mouth quirk upwards in the faintest of smiles, and there is something entirely too-predatory in his gaze as he leans closer, voice low and full of implications. “I think you must have some idea, given the way you reacted to the discovery that Dante and I have consummated ours.” 

Heat flashes up the back of Nero’s neck and into the tips of his ears even as his gaze is drawn to Vergil’s mouth, watching his lips shape the words that only hint at something filthy. Oh yeah, he has a few ideas about what he’s supposed to be doing right now, and his dick is in full agreement. 

The bed shifts behind him and Nero feels Dante’s knee gently bump his own, encouraging Nero to turn back and face his uncle. Before him, Dante’s face is unusually serious, and Nero can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable that he’s brought out this side of Dante. His uncle is acting like Nero’s signing his own death warrant with this, like he can’t smell the musk of Nero’s arousal or see the evidence of his interest. He opens his mouth to speak, but Dante beats him to it. 

“We don’t have to do anything. The bonds _will_ dissolve on their own.” 

Vergil sighs like this is a discussion they’ve had a hundred times. “Only if he doesn’t want them.” 

And there it is: the true reason why Dante and Vergil have been keeping this from him. They must have been waiting to see if he would settle on his own, if his desire to be with them was more than just a passing fancy. Judging by the tension he can feel sitting smack dab in the middle of the twins, it had clearly been a point of contention between the two of them. Even so, Dante had clearly felt very strongly about giving Nero an out, which — while touching — isn’t necessary. 

“It’s fine.” 

Despite the way anxious butterflies flutter around in his stomach, mixed with the occasional spike of anticipation, Nero’s voice sounds surprisingly calm even to his own ears. He should probably feel a little more reluctant about jumping into bed with the last remaining members of his family, but honestly? His life hasn’t been normal or particularly “good” since he was born; his hands are already dirty from his work with the Order of the Sword, and the violent urges he satisfies by ripping demons apart aren’t cleansing his soul either. Adding incest to the current tally of his sins really doesn’t seem like it’ll be the final nail in his coffin that ensures he’s going straight to Hell. 

(That, and the promise that after they do this, after they accept him properly in the way his devil desperately wants, it will make all these awful feelings go away. He’ll be one of them, for as long as they’ll have him, and that fills Nero with a kind of sickly sweet pleasure that it almost makes his teeth ache.) 

Of course, admitting to himself that he wants this and admitting it out loud are two very different hurdles to clear, and he falls into familiar defensiveness in an effort to mask his nerves. 

“Are we gonna do this or what? I think I’ve waited long enough for you two to get your act together.” 

Nero scowls first at Vergil and then at Dante, not sure which one of them will take the bait. He has only a moment to wonder if maybe he’d read the situation wrong, if maybe they hadn’t been waiting for his consent but instead hoping the bonds would fizzle out on their own, before there are firm, unyielding fingers against his chin and his face is being turned away from Dante. There is no hesitancy in the way that Vergil moves him, like Nero’s words are all the permission his father needs for swift, decisive action in the form of his mouth against Nero’s. 

Unsurprisingly, Vergil kisses like he fights, with a vicious, single-minded intensity that leaves Nero struggling to keep up. He feels like he’s being devoured, every muffled groan and whimper studied and memorized like he’s Vergil’s next target, like he’s someone else for Vergil to best. It irks him as much as it pushes Nero to try harder, to match his father in every way he can. Even out of his league as he is, Nero chases his pleasure where he can find it and revels in the small noises he coaxes from Vergil’s mouth whenever he does something right. He finds himself grasping at the wispy strands of hair at the nape of Vergil’s neck, gripping them almost as tightly as Vergil’s fingers grip his waist, grounding himself against the onslaught of Vergil’s kisses through touch and scent alone. 

By the time Vergil releases his mouth for some much-needed — but highly overrated — air, Nero’s lips feel hot and bruised, his skin too-tight like he’s barely keeping his trigger under control. He pants into the space between them, lets his fingers slide down the bare expanse of Vergil’s neck as his father nuzzles at his temple, a low noise rumbling in his chest that Nero instinctively recognizes as pleasure. Vergil is _pleased_ with him, and Nero’s belly tightens at the thought, cock heavy between his legs. He wants more, wants to hear more of Vergil’s sounds, wants to capture his father’s attention the way Vergil has captured his and—

The mattress shifts behind him, and Nero is — a little guiltily — reminded of the room’s other occupant. Not wanting anyone to feel left out, he shifts to face Dante, expecting more of the same. What he gets is his uncle’s scrutiny, and he tries not to squirm when Dante fixes him with a long, unreadable look. Nero feels like he’s missing something, something big and important, and frustrates him something fierce. Does Dante not want this? Is he not good enough for him? Is Nero lacking something that only his brother can provide? 

“Tell him,” Vergil murmurs into his ear, and Nero shivers at the feeling. “Tell him what you want.” 

Nero almost hesitates, suddenly struck with the fear of rejection, but the faint scrape of Vergil’s nails against his bare skin helps to ground him, as does the way Dante’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue when he licks his lips. 

“I want this. I want _you— dammit,_ Dante—” 

He loses momentum when Dante starts to chuckle, is already baring his teeth in preparation for a fight, until Dante leans pointedly into his space with the presence of a wild cat, eyes dark and dangerous. 

“I hear you, kid. I hear you loud and clear.” 

And then Dante’s hands are cupping his face and Nero’s being soundly kissed, protests effectively smothered by the wet heat of Dante’s mouth. His kisses are slower but no less thorough than Vergil’s, eroding away Nero’s lingering worries with the steady persistence of flowing water. It is intoxicating, to be so wholly consumed like this, and Nero isn’t sure he’s going to survive doing anything more than a little heavy petting. Just the thought of what it will feel like to have Dante’s hands on his body, to have Vergil’s mouth press kisses somewhere further than the expanse of his throat, is enough to make him groan. 

Dante breaks the kiss long enough to yank Nero’s shirt over his head, and that seems to be the signal for everyone to get undressed _immediately_, if not sooner. Nero thinks he’s going to be outmatched here, what with there being two of them and only one of him, but to his pleasant surprise the twins seem more than happy to team up with him against each other. He distracts Dante with another kiss while Vergil divests his brother of his pants in a singular, ruthless motion that makes Dante bite Nero’s tongue, and while Vergil takes his turn soothing the quickly healing wound, Dante takes the opportunity to strip Vergil (though he is somewhat hindered by the interference of Vergil’s tail). Nero assists where he can, but the more skin is revealed the more difficult it becomes to focus, leaving him wholly at the mercy of the twins. 

He loses track of time, loses track of everything but the heated slide of their bodies, the feel of hands not his own mapping every inch of his bare flesh as he is cocooned between the inhumanly hot bodies of two half-devils. The skin around his throat is starting to ache with the repeated lovebites that Dante and Vergil take turns leaving, apparently dissatisfied with the way his body insists on healing them so quickly. Nero would complain more if the thought of wearing such clear signs of ownership didn’t make his cock throb, if he didn’t feel the same bone-deep urge to leave marks of his own. 

Clawed fingers skate down the length of his ribs while another pair of hands tease at the root of his cock, toying with it as Nero grinds it up against the firm ridges of Dante’s abs, one leg thrown over Dante’s hip. Nero knows he’s already come once, can feel the slickness of his spend easing the friction of every thrust of his hips, but the orgasm seems to have done little to put a damper on their current activities. In some ways, he feels like a teenager again, saddled with unfortunately timed erections and the kind of libido that made jerking off a barely satisfying pastime. 

Only now, as he stifles his whimpers in his palm and feels his cock twitch with even the faintest touch, everything feels different, more intense, like a consuming wildfire that drives all thoughts from his head and keeps him solely focused on the here and now, lost to the crescendo of their shared passion. A small voice in his head tells him he should do more, should share this sweet ache with Dante and Vergil, but his body seems capable of little more than holding on tight to whatever he wraps his fingers around, clinging to the warm bodies of his kin like they’re driftwood in the stormy sea of his arousal. 

Somewhere behind him, he hears Vergil complain, “Don’t be so greedy, Dante,” but he misses Dante’s answer in the sound of his own moan as another slick finger joins the two currently inside of him, spreading him wider in a single move that has Vergil written all over it. For all that Nero’s experimented with his own body, his own touch doesn’t even hold a candle to having someone else — in fact, two someone elses — fingering him open so intimately. He tips his head back and arches into every thrust, riding the high as the twins figure out a rhythm that works for the both of them and makes Nero tighten up around their fingers every time they curl them against his prostate. 

“More,” Nero gasps when he can breathe properly again, if only to bask in the praise that follows, Dante murmuring it into the corner of his mouth between kisses while Vergil’s teeth and tongue find the sensitive spots behind his ear. 

At some point, he’s urged up onto all fours, empty and wanting and cold without the demonic bookends he’d become rather accustomed to. Before he can protest, though, there are fingers cupping under his jaw, inhumanly sharp fingernails prickling at the soft skin there. Nero forces himself to lift his head, blinking through the sweat until he focuses on Vergil sitting before him at the head of the bed like a king on his throne, back pressed against the pillows. He can feel the end of Vergil’s tail coiled around the crease of his thigh, both supporting him and holding him steady, and Nero can’t help but shiver every time the smooth scales slide against his sweat-slick skin. 

“There you are,” Vergil croons to him, soft and silken, and he strokes his thumb gently over the swell of Nero’s bottom lip. His father’s eyes are like liquid mercury, almost glowing with repressed demonic power, as lines of tiny scales blossom like petals across his cheekbones, his devil drawn to the surface in a partial trigger. 

Nero can’t look away from the picture Vergl makes, not even when he feels a big, warm hand stroke down the length of his back, reaching lower still until it pulls at one cheek of his ass. He knows what’s coming next, especially when he feels the blunt head of something warm pressing against his entrance, but he still can’t stop the way his body tenses instinctively. Vergil’s grip tightens on his chin and he leans closer, commanding Nero’s full attention and accepting nothing less.

For the briefest of moments Nero feels trapped, caught as he is between two very powerful devils, and he expresses how much fight he still has left in him in the only way that feels right. He snaps his teeth at his father, a move not intended to connect, but the threat of a bite still makes Vergil’s pupils slit into thin lines of predatory black. Nero’s own trigger sizzles across his skin in arcs of blue light, and he can feel the prickle of his face markings emerging beneath his eyes in trails of threatening crimson. He may be theirs but he is still a devil in his own right, one who has bested Vergil before and deserves—

Vergil’s suddenly very sharp teeth sink into the meat of Nero’s shoulder in retaliation, breaking even the tough skin of Nero’s trigger scales, and it makes him jerk backward. The movement only succeeds in pushing him further onto the cock that had been slowly breaching him, filling him up far more than the twins’ fingers had. Both Nero and Dante freeze, Nero keening through his teeth as he fights against the way he clamps down on Dante’s dick, hyper-aware of just how big it is now that he’s accidentally taken somewhere near half of it in one fell swoop. He drops his chin to his chest as gooseflesh breaks out across his arms, trembling as his body struggles to adjust. Dante, in turn, has his hip bones in a vice grip, seemingly just as compromised as he is. 

“_Breathe_, Nero,” comes Dante’s strained voice from over his shoulder, and he feels one of Dante’s hands leave Nero’s hips to stroke his back once again. 

“_I am_,” Nero bites out, but his snarl is a breathless one when he feels Vergil’s dark chuckle against the tender skin of his throat. Asshole. It’s his father’s fault he’s in this predicament, and naturally Vergil takes the opportunity to gloat. Not willing to be slowed down, even by his own body, Nero spreads his knees a little wider on the bed and moans when the movement eases Dante’s cock a little further inside, rubbing deeper than his fingers had. He can’t yet feel his uncle’s thighs against his own, knows that Dante is holding back on him, and it makes him shoot a dark look over his shoulder. 

Dante, however, just flashes him a grin that’s all teeth, baring them even more when Nero tries to take what he wants. He’s ready for Nero now though, not about to be surprised by any sudden movements, and Nero is forced to be patient and take only what he’s given, much to his chagrin. Reluctantly, he allows Dante to set his own pace and distracts himself with Vergil’s mouth, drawing his father away from the bite mark with plaintive noises and a soft mouth. Vergil obliges him, and Nero tries not to enjoy the taste of his own blood in Vergil’s mouth, even if the coppery tang to their kisses made something hot sizzle down the length of his spine. 

The kisses seem to be a good choice, as the moment he gets distracted by the feeling, Dante starts to move. Slowly, carefully, but with ever-increasing depth, Nero feels Dante start to fuck him, somehow perfectly matching his timing to the curl of Vergil’s tongue in Nero’s mouth. It’s hard to keep kissing Vergil, what with the way his blood sings with every flex of Dante’s abs sliding his cock against Nero’s insides, but Vergil doesn’t seem to mind his distraction. He drinks up Nero’s moans, coaxes more out of him with his own hands, and even as Nero struggles to keep his head clear he aches for them to give him more, to satisfy him like the demons they all are. Nero is mere seconds away from grabbing Dante’s ass with his hand-wings and making him fuck Nero properly, but he can’t seem to get enough breath to make demands, his mouth jealously guarded by Vergil. Even Dante seems to catch on to his twin’s ploy. 

“Hey, save some for me,” he teases as he leans forward and presses himself against Nero’s back, but whatever snappy comeback Nero had in mind immediately fizzles out the moment Dante thrusts forward in one, smooth roll of his hips. 

_There._

The position changes the angle ever so slightly, and in that thrust Nero feels the swollen base of Dante’s cock catch at his rim and the sensation startles a keen out of him. Absently, he’s aware of Dante and Vergil kissing over him, the sounds of their meeting mouths only serving to tighten the coil of arousal in his belly, but he can’t help but focus on the movement Dante’s cock instead, waiting for the teasing pressure he’d felt just then. Only, it doesn’t come. Dante’s thrusts are lazy, slow and careful despite his position, and Nero starts to feel a familiar brand of irritation unfurl in his chest. His uncle’s definitely holding out on him again, treating him more carefully than he treats anyone else, and this time? Nero’s not having any of it. 

He holds onto Vergil’s legs for leverage, grabs hold of his shoulders with his wing-arms that have reappeared once more, and uses the new position to fuck himself back onto Dante’s cock, nearly succeeding in forcing the last, thickened inch properly inside of him. Dante manages to stop him before he gets ahead of himself, and Nero lets his disapproval be known, growling dangerously as more of his skin turns itself into scales. He wants this, dammit, and Dante—

With a huff of laughter that morphs quickly into a moan, Dante pulls Nero up onto his knees, letting gravity help him spread Nero wider on the girth of his cock. It startles a noise out of Nero as well, especially when Dante wraps his arms around him and growls, 

“Hang on, kid.” 

Nero is left to grab for his father once again and closes his eyes against the onslaught of Dante’s new rhythm, arching into every rough thrust even as he tries to muffle his moans in the crook of his elbow. It’s rough and hot and _perfect_, and Nero lets himself be swept away by it all, giving himself over to Dante’s pursuit of pleasure. He can barely hold himself up anymore, and when Dante pushes him back down against the bedspread he goes willingly, turning his face to the side while Dante drives into him again and again. 

Dante doesn’t keep the pace for long, and with a final jerk of his hips he presses his knot all the way inside, grinding it there while it swelled enough to keep them connected. Red lightning sparks along his hands, scales bursting free only to fall away just as fast, Dante’s form temporarily unstable with the force of his own orgasm. Nero’s ears don’t even register the praise being murmured into his sweaty back, too caught up in the delicious fullness of the knot and the feeling of Dante’s cock pulsing deep inside him, a hot flood that almost makes him come undone. 

For a long moment they stay there, Nero’s thighs trembling with the effort as Dante pets his flanks with soothing hands. Their moment is, naturally, ruined by the room’s other occupant. 

“Let me see,” Vergil demands in a tone that brooks no argument. Dante grunts something unintelligible, but does as he’s told, drawing Nero to him and rolling them both onto their sides. With one hand, he hooks his fingers under Nero’s knee and spreads his legs, drawing it back enough to reveal everything for Vergil’s viewing pleasure. It makes all the blood not currently dedicated to keeping Nero’s cock flushed and aching rush to his face, and he’s torn between the urge to cover himself and to arch his back a little more to show Vergil what Dante’s done to him. 

Vergil doesn’t give him long enough to decide on a course of action, already reaching for him, stroking down his quickly rising and falling chest until his hands stop at Nero’s belly. It’s only now that he’s on his side like this and no longer hyper-aware of the swell of Dante’s knot that Nero realizes his stomach is not the nicely toned surface he remembers it being. As he shifts his weight he can only watch as the bulge there also moves, and for a moment all Nero can hear is the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. 

That’s Dante’s _dick_, or at least his dick is accounting for some of that. 

Nero can’t stop the way his cock jerks when Vergil presses against the softness of his stomach, seemingly just as fascinated by this new development, and Nero suddenly feels hot all over. At his back, he can tell the exact moment Dante notices too, his uncle’s sharp inhale and the new pulse of come flooding his insides more than enough of a tell. Fuck, he’s really taken all that inside of him… 

“Interesting…” Vergil murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. He manages to find what Nero imagines must be the tip of Dante’s cock, if Dante’s low noise is anything to go by, and he exploits it with a kind of ruthless focus that has Dante (and Nero by proxy, because every time Dante moves it rubs his knot against Nero’s insides) groaning and squirming away. 

It’s only when Dante swats at Vergil’s hands that his brother relents, allowing both Nero and Dante to breathe a sigh of relief that is, sadly, rather premature. Denied of his earlier amusement, Vergil busies himself with taking Nero’s cock into his mouth instead, surrounding it in a blissful, wet heat that really makes Nero shake. This time, though, Dante holds Nero as still as he can manage, and Nero is left to gasp and moan and curse his way through the first (and subsequently best) blowjob of his life. His orgasm hits him with the force of a freight train, molten heat exploding at the base of his spine as Vergil’s tongue does things to his dick he didn’t even know were possible, much less legal. Dante’s only contribution is a new set of bruises on Nero’s hips and the tiniest whine when his cock is subjected to the aftershocks of Nero’s climax. Nero doesn’t have time to feel sorry for him, because Vergil is pulling away and kissing his way up Nero’s chest to share the taste of him, clearly very pleased with himself. 

He’s barely managed to catch his breath when he feels Dante shift beneath him, the plug of his knot easing to allow his come to trickle free. It makes him tighten up reflexively, not wanting to make a mess, and Dante chokes on an oversensitive groan. Try though he may though, Nero cannot keep Dante’s softening cock from slipping free of his body, nor can he do anything about the sudden slickness running down his thighs. He presses his legs together, whining softly, but his disappointment is short-lived. No sooner does the sound leave his throat is he being passed over to Vergil and spread across his lap, Vergil’s flushed cock rutting up against his own spent one. Nero bites back a whimper when he feels the tips of Vergil’s fingers brush against his entrance, the touch making him shudder, and he hears Vergil hum a question against his hair. A wiser person would have taken a minute to breathe, would have even considered waiting to go another round until he’d recovered from the first, but Nero? Nero has never backed down from a challenge in his _life._

With shaky but determined hands, Nero reaches down to grasp the base of Vergil’s cock, holding it steady as ur feels the tip slide through the mess between his thighs on the first roll of his hips, feels it tease at his entrance on the second. He wants this, wants to push his body to its limits if it means taking both the twins and making them both his. (Like they’re going to make him theirs). So he tips his head back so he can see Vergil’s face out of the corner of his eye, and fixes his father with his best cocky grin, goading him with the words he knows will get a reaction out of the man. 

“Not motivated enough yet, old man?” 

Vergil, unlike Dante, does not take his time. 

His first thrust fucks the air right out of Nero, leaving him gasping and writhing in overstimulated pleasure as Vergil’s cock drives all the way into him once, then again and again. The filthy, wet sounds of their coupling alone are enough to make Nero’s ears burn, not to mention the embarrassing noises Vergil keeps wringing out of him, and yet despite all that he can’t help the way he arches into Vergil’s chest, determined to satisfy him the same way he satisfied Dante. (He’s more than capable of that much.)

Nero’s only vaguely aware of the wetness sliding down his cheeks until warm fingers wipe his tears away, and Nero opens his eyes to blink through damp lashes at Dante, a curious noise on his lips. Dante just smiles at him, eyes half-lidded with sleepy satisfaction, and then he leans in, sandwiching Nero between him and his brother as he kisses Vergil soundly. The press of Dante’s abs against Nero’s half-hard cock makes him moan, and he reaches out to hold onto his uncle’s biceps as his father ruts into him with increasing force. It’s a move that catches Dante’s attention, and when he breaks the kiss with a wet noise, he stays pressed up against Nero’s body. His voice, pitched low and flavoured with demonic subharmonics, is all for Vergil though. 

“Give it to him, brother. He’s been so good for us. Don’t make him wait.” 

Whatever else Dante supplies as dirty talk is lost on Nero, because his uncle has Nero’s cock in one of his big, warm hands, jerking him in a rhythm that makes him keen loudly and his toes curl at the sudden stimulation. Nero honestly doesn’t think he has another orgasm in him, his cock protesting the treatment even as every stroke makes electric pleasure spark along his nerves, but if Dante is willing to touch him then fuck, he’s willing to try. Caught between the twins, Nero rides the cresting wave until Vergil presses tight against his back and groans, filling him for a second time as Dante wrings a wretched third climax from Nero, his release spurting weakly all over Dante’s fingers. 

The three of them lie in a silence broken only by Nero’s gasping breaths, luxuriating in their shared debauchery as much as their shared closeness. While Nero can do little more than breathe, Vergil and Dante both keep their touches gentle, stroking over his sweaty skin, occasionally drifting to the swell of his stomach where he’s been fucked full by them both. It’s a little ticklish, and a little too much when they get close to his cock, but Nero lets them do it all the same until Vergil is finally able to pull out of him. 

“We should change the sheets,” Nero mumbles, even as he rolls over and buries his face in the pillow. His whole body aches in the best possible way, and while he doesn’t enjoy the thought of sleeping in a dirty nest, he’s far too tired to get up and deal with the problem himself. Besides, the bed smells like _them_, a deliciously inhuman mixture that makes Nero want to rub it all over himself. 

(Like he isn’t already covered in Dante and Vergil’s scents) 

“I’ll wash ‘em later,” Dante insists, even though they all know that he won’t follow through when it comes to laundry. Vergil at least has the good grace not to make promises he doesn’t intend to keep. Instead, he curls himself around Nero and Dante, one arm ensnaring the both of them, and tucks his face into Nero’s body like he’s trying to hide from the light. Dante takes more time to settle, grumbling and muttering under his breath, before he ends up with his face resting on the small of Nero’s back, keeping Nero still a little more effectively than his brother. 

Nero, resigning himself to be a human pillow, absently pets the bits of Dante he can reach and lets himself succumb to the heaviness in his limbs. He’ll needle Dante about the laundry later, might even make Vergil help him fold it. For now, though, he’s content in the knowledge that he’s _theirs_, in all the ways that matter, and that fact is enough to settle the devil in his soul.


End file.
